


A Fire Inside

by MermaidMelo



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF, Thor - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, OOC, Sex, Sexual, Thorki - Freeform, WIP, eventually, extreme WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-08-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 23:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2207796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MermaidMelo/pseuds/MermaidMelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let it out; let the pain out, and let me in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fire Inside

The house sat on risers, sand slowly filling in the gaping maw that once existed underneath. Whitewash exposed, crooked stairs creaking the announcement of footsteps on the porch, the quintessential screen door that slapped shut, not always effective in keeping the insects out – the house was exactly what he wanted. Thor stood with his feet just touching the bottom step, wind rushing through the reeds, the sand catching between his exposed toes. It looked slightly smaller from the outside, he wondered if anyone could even tell that there were two floors to the house. At least you couldn’t tell from the front.

The realtor’s sign was still hammered into the hard-packed sand, the bold red “SOLD” fixture atop it. He wondered how deep the realtor had to hammer it in to reach the wet sand beneath, wet enough to keep the sign from falling over with the harsher winter winds. The realtor had told him the house had been on the market so long she was considering going back to the bank and giving the contract to someone else. The plexiglass box attached to the sign contained actual pictorial evidence of what the house once looked like. The photographs showed such a lovely house, Thor couldn’t fathom why it had been on market so long with no takers. Certainly when held up next to the house as it stood now, it took some imagination to see the house in the photographs. The paint job all but gone, the sagging porch gave the impression the whole house stood askew, but Thor knew enough by looking through the house that it was solid. It had been built on the coast nearly 80 years ago, and had withstood many an Atlantic storm; surely it was a solid house. 

During his first walk-through, he was surprised to find the interior so livable. Standing on the non-existent lawn that was more sand and dirt than grass, Thor imagined the interior to look as ragged as the exterior. He was upset that it would probably take some weeks before he could actually move in. The house would need a lot of work – or so he thought. Thor thought he had stepped into a completely different house. He could smell still-fresh paint on the bare walls, the floors were in great shape, the original wood having recently been repaired and polished. The kitchen was gleaming with stainless steel appliances and dark granite countertops. He was almost sad he wouldn’t have to spend so much money on the interior. 

The first piece of furniture he moved in was his mother’s metal-framed four-poster bed. The house reminded him so much of that bed – paint job lost, worn and frayed, but solid. He bought the new mattress, sheets, and pillows, and held them in storage in sealed plastic along with the bed until he’d found the perfect home to house the bed. Upstairs he’d seen two bedrooms and several closets, but the bathrooms were only on the ground floor. An older house with no second-story plumbing, the ground floor had the master bedroom with a bathroom and double doors that once led out to the wrap-around porch. The doors had been sealed shut for what seemed an eternity, but as he ran his hands across the seams, he knew he could get them to open up. He knew he could return the wrap-around porch to its full glory…eventually. 

On his first official day of home ownership, Thor settled for bringing in just the bed. He removed the bed linens and quilts from the plastic housing, fluffed the new pillows and hoped they would soon become comfortable shapes, and brought in the step ladder to hook the sheer, white tenting from the ceiling. Stepping back from the bed, he was taken back for a moment to his childhood, peeking through the gauzy material of the netting to peak at his mother who was still asleep in the creeping sunlight. He stretched the fabric to cover as much of the bed as it could, the white metal posts of the bed still exposed. Satisfied with its appearance, he closed the stepladder and leaned it against the wall. Unable to help himself, he already pictured where the chest of drawers and wardrobe would go, where he could hang some photographs and paintings. Walking through the house, running his hands along the freshly-painted walls, he knew he would paint one of the walls in the living room a different color; probably the wall where he would put his desk. He shook his head and forced the images from his mind. He didn’t want to get too excited just yet; he had to keep his plans within reason.

He was grateful the kitchen was all new. He had asked the realtor why they had spent so much time and money on the interior of the house but left the exterior largely untouched. Didn’t that reduce the interest in the house? Her explanation was a combination of disinterest and confidence that modern-day appliances were considered more important to most people. He agreed, though mostly because he didn’t care about kitchen appliances, and preferred the opportunity to restore the exterior of the house to his preferences. He walked to the realtor’s sign still stuck in the sand and took the photographs out of the plexiglass. He liked the way it looked. Apparently it wasn’t what most people would want it to look like – too old-fashioned or something like that. To Thor, this was exactly what the house was supposed to look like. One photograph revealed the very edges of the master bedroom porch double doors. They opened up to the ocean; the perfect alarm clock in the rising sun. He was going to love restoring the house, especially the exterior, and then maybe completely redo the interior to match the feel. He was going to love living in this house. 

He still held those photographs in his hand as he walked back to the house. Before shutting the front door, he looked down and smiled. He could easily walk in and out of the house barefoot, nothing around but a lot of sand, reeds, and water. The gravel driveway was the only potential problem with that idea, but he was grateful he had a good place to park his truck. The driveway stretched for almost a quarter mile, old oaks heavy with Spanish moss starting about halfway down all the way to the curb. Thor relished the isolation. 

In the morning he lay in bed, his sight slightly blurred by the tent. He closed his eyes and listened; he could hear the ocean just outside, the early morning breeze in the reeds and sagging oaks lining the gravel drive not far from the house. Most of all, he could hear the house – the way it creaked just so, the way it seemed to breathe in rhythm with the waves. He was so grateful to be out of the apartment buildings that had been home for so long. He would have no problem working out of this house. He could write anywhere. Actually, he expected to write more often, write better, with this house and this setting to inspire him. 

The crunch of tires on gravel shook him from his listening experiment. Could someone be driving up to look at the house, thinking it was still for sale? No one he knew had his new address – he was in no rush to tell anyone – and the house was set so far back from the road that only someone looking for the driveway would find it through all the overgrowth. He reached for his wristwatch tucked somewhere between the pillows – it was after 11; the realtor had told him to expect her before noon to retrieve the “For Sale” sign and have Thor sign any final paperwork. He frantically searched for his pants. He always slept naked, especially in summer. He cursed the tenting around the bed that trapped him as he searched. 

Just in time to zip his pants and run his hands through his shoulder-length blonde hair, he rushed barefoot to the front door. No doorbell he realized; she had been knocking on and off for about a minute. 

“So sorry, I’m coming!”

He opened the door just as the folder of papers fell from her hands. She was carrying a shovel and several folders, and also a basket. He dropped to the ground to collect the papers.

“Oh, thank you! I probably should have made a few trips to the car. I wanted to thank you for rescuing me from this property.”

She held out the basket, balanced on the hand holding the handle of the shovel.

“Please, Deborah, come in. I guess this makes you my first official guest. I’m so sorry for the way I look. I can’t believe I slept so soundly my first night in a new place. This is surely a result of the house.”

“It’s fine, you look…fine…”

Deborah suddenly stopped to look at the writer, her papers in his hand, the basket with food and champagne in his other hand, his arms bare, his chest and torso bare, pants sitting low on his hips. She swallowed in spite of herself. She never pictured a writer to have this kind of body. She shifted the shovel to her other hand and walked in, averting her eyes as best she could. He stood aside to let her in, taking the shovel from her hand and closing the door.

“I guess I should consider installing a doorbell. Though I don’t think I want this house to have one. Don’t know that I’ll be expecting a lot of visitors. Anyway, just another thing to add to my list of considerations.”

He followed behind her through the hallway, past the living room, and into the kitchen. The granite countertop island had a butcher’s block, and a metallic fixture hanging from the ceiling with hooks for pots and pats. He wasn’t much of a cook, but he could work his way around a steak, or a great fried egg sandwich. All he knew was that the hanging pots and pans needed to have copper plating. The house seemed to call for that.

“Thank you for the basket, though it really isn’t necessary. The house is truly gift enough.”

She smiled and relaxed. She began rifling through the paperwork, picking and choosing what was left to sign. He was so clearly in love with the house, she knew she wouldn’t have to deal with it much longer. 

“You don’t have to sign these right away. Escrow is closed already, these are just a few technical things, but you’re welcome to read all the fine print. I just want to get the sign out of your way so it can finally feel like your home.”

“I’ll take care of it. Glad you brought a shovel, most of my tools are still in storage with the rest of my stuff. I think I’ll be visiting my unit later today.”

Before she could argue, he was back out the front door. She couldn’t help but watch him leave. His pants were somewhat baggy, but his back was just as wonderfully naked as his chest and torso. She bit her lower lip and pulled her ponytail loose. She already had something of a reputation in the city. Not a huge reputation, but then again, it wasn’t a huge city… What’s one more former client? She had no nearby properties she was showing, and he didn’t seem the type to bother his realtor with pesky questions about sagging roofs and improperly sealed windows, so even if he turned her down, which she really hoped he wouldn’t, at least she could leave with some of her dignity. 

She suddenly realized she’d hooked up with almost every guy to whom she’d shown this house – taken or single. It was probably the stress associated with the house. This guy was definitely the best-looking, so it somehow seemed appropriate to end her streak with him. She laid out the contents of the basket, grateful she didn’t need a bottle opener. Was 11:30 in the morning too early for champagne? She took a quick glance at herself in her compact. She reapplied her lip gloss and ran her fingers through her jet black hair. She was pleasantly surprised that her graying roots did not appear so obvious today. She walked to the living room and looked out the hallway to the open front door. Thor was almost done pulling the sign from the sand. The pile of wet sand he’d dug up seemed relatively small. He didn’t need much more than his own strength to pull the sign from the sand. She returned to the kitchen island and popped open the bottle. She didn’t care if it was too soon. Not that she needed the liquid encouragement, but he might. She noticed the photos of the house sitting on the counter. Was he planning on keeping them? Did he actually want them? 

“Well, that’s that. I checked and the trunk of your car was open so I put the sign and shovel inside, I hope that’s alright.”

“That’s more than alright. You’re basically doing all my work for me. Almost seems unfair…”

She smiled and placed her hand on his arm gently before walking around the kitchen island. 

“Sorry I didn’t consider bringing any plates, but I’ve got some napkins and most importantly, plastic cups. A little tacky, I know, but hopefully you’ll forgive the vessel for the actual drink.”

“I should probably wash my hands first.”

He walked off to the master bedroom. She heard the bathroom door close. She sighed and wondered if she’d appeared too desperate. The champagne, the all-too-obvious flirting – she should tone it down, but she was getting almost desperate for him. She poured a bit of champagne in each cup then took a big drink from one before refilling it.  
“Starting without me I see.”

She jumped a little at the sound of his voice. For such a tall, stocky guy, he hardly made a sound. She didn’t even here the bathroom door open. 

“I was embarrassed enough at not having brushed my teeth when you arrived; there was no way I could remain that way, especially with all this lovely hospitality.”

He smiled broadly and accepted the cup from her hand. He came in close enough and stayed there. She wondered if he included her in that hospitality. 

“Cheers! And thank you again for bringing me to this house. I know I’ve mentioned it enough times to bore you, but it’s just so perfect. You are wonderful at your job.”

“Oh believe me, you can talk all you want about loving the house seeing as I can’t stop thanking you for taking it off my hands. Speaking of which, are these the photographs from the sign?”

“Huh, seems they are. I was looking at them yesterday afternoon and I must have brought them in with me. I guess I was just trying to get an idea of how to restore the exterior. Would it be possible to have copies? Is that too much trouble? Or I could make copies of them myself and bring them over to your office during the week?”

Was he trying to figure out a way to see her again? Or was she reading into it too much? She decided not to take the chance, just in case his extreme graciousness was just that.

“Actually those are about the only things that we found from the previous owners. The house was basically abandoned for a long while, and people have only ever rented it in the past. You can keep them, if you’d like.”

He touched his cup to hers before draining it dry. She was waiting with the bottle to refill it.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in ages. Truthfully this story was started almost a year ago and abandoned numerous times, but it's the closest thing I've got that could actually have an ending. That said, I feel like I'm ages away from completing the story. Honestly, I don't even know what most of the story is supposed to say. I only know the beginning and the end. Here's hoping that by posting the beginning, I will be more inclined to complete and conclude it.


End file.
